Dreams of White
by paperbird
Summary: **She ends up in the wrong one's arms, but it's all right. And then she wakes up ** Ulquihime **
1. Descent

So, I'm using first-person narrative. That's, like, okay, right? –panics-

Yay for this couple! YAY! I'm up to speed on the manga now, and gosh, can you say OTP?

And I'm not even sure what's up with this wedding. But she doesn't either!

Not sure if this will be a oneshot or more. But for now, enjoy, okay!

…Rating may change? :D We'll see, sonny boy.

_I closed my eyes from the constant night, and began to dream._

_White, white everywhere. The walls are strung with it, figures flit in and out of view gaudily dressed in it, and it's on me._

_Oh, yes, it's all over me. I spin, and a fan of white cloth splays out like an ocean wave. It's a graceful dress, and on any other day I'd feel foreign in its care._

_But not today._

_It's a wedding dress, you see._

_Careful, agile hands run a brush though my hair. Completely wrung out, painstakingly dried pulled back up, letting it rest low but contract on my neck, flowers pinned in. Oohs and Aahs. Smiles._

_A sisterly voice that I can't place chimes, and a hand wraps around to pull a minute corner of the collar into place. It dips wide across exposed shoulders, more wide than low. People flutter in and out: laughing, spinning, and they slowly filter out of the room._

_I shift to face my reflection in the mirror, and a delicate face gazes back. Delicate, cautious, but unafraid. I have no desire to run back, to reconsider her choice. _

Hmm. That…that may be new_._

_I stand up, fuss my dress into place, and lay confident steps out of the room. A staircase that runs down endlessly, covered in red fabric and white petals. It's like something out of a fairy tale, some little-girl dream that never quite died. _

_One foot after another, and I don't stumble._

_After a long while of walking, there's a rise of noise, and people become visible. I see familiar shapes, and hear strains of voices, yet still nothing is recognizable. The people are ghostlike, but they comfort me all the same._

_The end of the stairs is in sight now, abruptly ending its odyssey. At its end, the room opens up like a cavern. People dot its floor, clustering around a thin path._

_A soft hum of noise surrounds: a warm mix of muted conversations, a soft strain of something like music, the smooth swish of fabric. It's nothing exotic._

_I pass the mass of faces, move past the noise, and am nearly all alone._

_Nearly._

_He waits at the end of the carpeted walk. He cuts a strong, dark line from his shoulders though his legs that almost looks frightening, but careful contours of his face are soft. He reaches out a hand, and she takes it, molding his palm to mine. _

_His other hand winds out, and it settles into the smallest arch of my back, and reels me in with a small fireburst of nerves. It's a surprise, and I flex back and raise my eyes to search his face._

_There's no soft brown here, only a chilling, brilliant green._

My hands scramble and cling to the sheets, and I bolt awake. I gulp down air as fast as I can get it, and stare into the darkened room, letting my eyes adjust.

In. Out. Gradually, the breaths slow. But I'm reeling in surprise, and I can't wrap my head around the fact that it was…

"Woman?" A soft, inquisitive voice calls. I wheel around, and Ulquiorra is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe easily, green eyes tilted at me. I realize that I don't know how long he's been there. For all I know, he could have fallen out of the dream with me, and seen everything.

"I…I just…" Nothing comes to my jammed mind; my face is almost as frozen as his.

"Tell me, girl. It's not like I could guess. My knowledge of odd human behaviors is limited.

"It was a dream," and I choke for breath and pray he doesn't notice. Around him, I've felt fear, panic, and alienated; but never this nervous sensation.

He shifts in the doorframe, looking down. "I've heard of those. And, to be honest, I don't understand why they're so terrifying."

I fix my hand on the bed, and steady myself. "They're terrifying because they seem so real. Before you know it, you believe it. Even after you wake up."

"Even though they're just illusions?"

"Yes. You believe it, however briefly."

"But," and here he looks halfway up the wall as if the answer is written there but it can't seem as if he's looking, "It's not a…" He looks as if the word just escaped him.

"A nightmare?" I offer.

"Yes. That."

I curl my fingers, folding the sheet into a thousand rays. "No. Not a nightmare."

He seems satisfied with this answer, and straightens himself up in the doorway. "Well then. It seems that there's nothing I can do. See to it that you don't wake up half of the whole Hueco Mundo, woman?"

"Yes. Sir."

He could turn and walk away, and should by all rules of propriety. Rules that he usually follows to the letter. Instead, he looks straight at me, and bows his head a minute centimeter, the barest sign of respect.

Then he leaves, with a flourish of white robe marking his exit.

I start to shake. I stare in my folded hands in horror.

I don't sleep again for the rest of the night.


	2. Falling Up

This sleep induced insanity she's got going on? Totally how I am at the moment. Argh. Plotbunny stuck in head won't let me sleep!

I tried to make this not too cliche. Tell me if it worked!?

* * *

I trudge and flinch though the day. My stupor doesn't go unnoticed: I trip over my own feet and end up sprawled on the cold smoothness of floor. Grimmjow, who'd been nearby, throws his head back and laughs like a howling dog.

_No hands to help you up here, girl. Get over it._ Actually, I find that thought in my mind multiple times throughout the day. A few female lower-ranking Arrancar, that small group of women that flock to him like insects to a flame, have been known to sneer at me at any possible opportunity.

I can't imagine why. Aizen is worse than heartless; I'd swear to you that he's not even human. _Although there was that one time,_ and my palms go slick with cold sweat at this_, when he drew himself close to me in a way that… that could be perceived as something other than threatening. _

At this, I almost want to gag. And that's not because of any sleeplessness.

But I float around my cell for most of the day. I stay out of the way. A captive outsider, nothing more.

"Woman." A cool greeting as Ulquiorra comes in. I sit obediently, eat as little as keeps him happy, and don't raise my eyes to his unless he's talking, and then only for a split-second. _Don't let that electric emerald green touch you._ I clench my shoulders to prevent that tingle from sweeping down my spine.

He leaves with a polite nod. I don't watch him go. My shoulders stay knotted and frozen like a tree.

Aizen's timed illusion of night falls. However created, though, my body takes the cue, and drags even more.

Desperately, I grip the edge of the bed with clawlike hands, and stare at a ding in the wall with fierce concentration. Because, (_you stupid girl, you have nothing to worry about_) I'm afraid of what I'll see.

But my head is heavy and I loosen my grip. I intend to only rest my eyes, but there's nothing I can do, and I drift away. It's all I can do to hope that I'll sleep peacefully.

No such luck.

-OoO-

_Flurries of White, a graceful descent down a tower of nothing but stairs, and the welcome of ghosts fly by in the time it takes to blink. I'm pulled across the room, but it's impossible to see if I run or I'm merely being pulled._

_His hand fuses with mine, he touches my back, I shivering flinch and search his face. Time resumes its usual syrupy flow._

"_Ah! Ulquiorra!" _

_He smiles: a slow graceful curve, "Yes?"_

"_You're…you're not supposed to do that. T-t-the minister must…" He glances to the side, where a shadow figure stands, clutching a book. The man is frozen._

"_Sir, surely you don't mind?" _

_The figure waves a hand in acceptance._

"_Good." He pulls me closer, with only our clasped hands next to the minister retaining any semblance of the ceremony._

_Somewhere, here, I have forgotten to breathe. _

_He turns his head to face me. His eyes are a sea of green, as always, but today they're softer, almost like the familiar greens of summer. His skin is less painfully pale, and the garish mask is absent from his head. _

_With an odd feeling, I realize I've forgotten something too. I reach up my free hand to confirm this, but I already know: no starlike pins here. _

"_Dearly beloved," the minister's whispery voice sounds," We are gathered here today …"_

_I lower my hand, slowly, only to raise it cautiously again. I slide shaking fingers under his tie, to where that permanent gaping wound of his should be._

_My fingers only find the base of his throat, shifting as he breathes._

_He laughs. He actually laughs; a soft, warm chuckle. I dart my eyes up, and he's amused. I snatch my hand back._

_The minister continues, a slow march of words._

"_Ulquiorra." I try to keep m invoice from sounding like a scared schoolgirl, with limited success. "How did this happen? I…I don't even know where we are, and…"_

_His eyes blink, confused. "But what do you mean by that?"_

"_I mean, I can't remember how it…" I should shut up my squeaking voice. I don't even know what I'm saying._

_He looks intensely worried. "Orohime, darling," and I can't quite believe he's actually saying such a beautiful word, something belonging in the pulpy pages of a romance novel and not in reality, "I don't know what's going on with you. You're not backing out now, are you?"_

"_No!" I whisper. Beside me, the minister carries on. "I...I'm just…"_

"_Orohime," he says, and pulls me even closer. "I think you need to calm down."_

_A good idea. A very good idea. I breathe in._

"_You're not regretting this, right?"_

"_No. No, of course not." And I somehow know this to be the truth._

_He nods. "You have no reason to doubt this, Orohime. You had no hesitation when I asked. You nearly bowled me over with joy, remember?"_

_No, I don't remember. But I nod vaguely, as if I do._

"_All you need to know is that I've always loved you. From the very beginning. And now, dear," he says, turning minutely, " I do believe we have something very important to attend to," His catlike green eyes warm as he smiles._

"_Do you, Ulquiorra Schifer, take this woman…"The words, those classic words._

_He does not hesitate. "Yes. I do."_

"_And do you, Orohime Inoe, take this man…" _

_The world hangs on this moment, tilting to the weight of the silence. _

_And then, I hear myself say, "I do."_

"_You may kiss the bri…"_

_Ulquiorra doesn't wait for the permission; He slings his arm under my knees, and swings me upward, circling his arm around my shoulders. He draws his face close to mine, and kisses me swiftly, a chaste brushing of lips._

_The sensation freezes me. I shift upwards in his arms to break it by a tiny margin of air, and draw in a gasping breath. _

_His eyes are still heavy-lidded as he turns around, and reluctantly sets me down. I still feel as if I'm flying. _

_This is wrong, this is so wrong, I'm making a mistake…I think all that in the blink of an eye. And yet, as he starts back up the aisle, I latch onto his arm and follow his lead out and away._

_

* * *

_

Personally, I almost can't imagine hearing him say darling, either!

Read and Review!


	3. Noted

I think I needed to shake it up a little, so here's a bit of comic relief. Its' not crack, just a bit lively. I think. So, making an appearance is Gay Best Friend Syazel and voyeur Grimmy.

Enjoy.

Ulquiorra opens the door to my cell in a smooth, silent glide that almost escapes my notice. Skittishly, I stand up from where I'd been on the floor. I hadn't expected him until later, and flounder about nervously. Although I hate myself for it, if I'd known he was coming, I would have tried to make myself more presentable; my dress is wrinkled, my hair mussed.

"Woman, you're needed," he says. His eyes flicker with the slightest hint of boredom.

"Where?" My voice is scratchy with nerves. _Calm down. _

"Szayel requires you for research," he says, and I try not to quake with fear. Szayel, if I remember right, is the pink-haired oddity, who had struck me as a creep.

"It's…It's not bad, is it. What's going to happen?"

"I don't happen to know."

"Are we… Am I going to…". _I don't know what to do._

His eyes rest on mine. "It's the best thing to do in this situation. Aizen won't be kind if you don't follow orders."

"I don't want to." I say breathlessly, squeaking like a mouse. I sound like a spoiled child.

"Orohime, you will do as you're told. Or else," he murmurs quietly, but with restrained force, "we'll have to be less nice."

_It's no use_. "All right then."

He bows his head, and that might be relief on his face. _Or my imagination._

"This way." He motions his head, beckoning me into the outside corridor. It reminds me eerily of the dream, and a shiver crunches up my spine.

"Like this, sir?"

"Yes, girl. Good, good. That's good." The pink-haired man, _is that hair for real?_ smiles foxily.

He's attached tubes up my arm to about the elbow. Upon his command, I flex and move my fingers. He hunches over to see something on the attached meter, and manically scribbles something.

I was never that great at science at school, and this doesn't seem like anything I could comprehend even if I did. I'm no longer scared, just curious.

"Sir?"

"Yes, girl?" He says, not looking up.

"What are you measuring? I don't quite know what I'm supposed to be doing…"

His head pops up, almost comically. "Energy levels. Raistu. You're quite an anomaly, girl. That's why you're here, you know."

_Oh, wonderful._ I find this almost funny.

Scratch, scratch, scratch of a pen. He glances over, scrunches his eyes, and scratches at the paper again. Then, surprisingly, he tears off a section and passes it over to me.

_Don't look now, but Ulqiorra seems to be waiting outside the door, _It reads.

I look over at the doorway, and look closely. Sure enough, there's a section where the light is blocked. He must be lurking outside the door.

My heartbeat spikes. Szayel flicks his eyes at the meter, then cocks an eyebrow at me. _Damn._

"It's not like that," I hiss.

"Uh-_huh,_" he says impartially, but with a frighteningly foxlike grin. "Don't worry, I'll neglect to record that odd little reading right there."

I curl my fingers around the slender wires. Outside of the door, the shadow doesn't move. I supposed there's a perfectly good reason for him to be there, playing the role of the jailer and all, but I still can't calm down.

After a long time of Szeal's prompting, taking readings on a silent meter, and the pale tiles in the door staying darkened, Syzel rips off a piece of paper decisively.

"We're done here. Let me go get Ulquiorra." He strides outside. "Ah, there you are, Number four!"

I flinch at his false feigned surprise, a high, dramatic falsetto. They both enter in, Szayel buzzing around the irritated Ulquiorra.

_Oh. Oh no._ The traitorous scrap of paper is still lying on the table in front of me. I snatch it and scrunch it into a ball with my unwired hand. I claw my hand into a fist in my lap and try to tear the note to pieces as best I can.

"So your business here is finished, Aporro?"

"Nearly. I still need you to bring _these,_" and he begins to shuffle together the papers, "to Aizen."

Ulquiorra's eyes narrow. "Shouldn't someone else be doing this? Technically, I rank higher."

"Those are very sensitive papers, Ulquiorra. We don't let just anyone handle that information, you know. Not for their eyes." He wags his finger at him playfully.

Ulquiorra sighs. "Fine. I'll take the papers."

The note is nearly scattered into pieces, but not quite. I tear more frantically. Syazel peers over at me, and looks surprised. Then he flashes a wide grin.

"I'm tearing the note," I whisper at him frantically.

"Oh. That's it. I thought it was some other strange human behavior." He snickers.

_What?…Oh. Ohh. _"Just help me, please!"

He sighs melodramatically- _a damned waste of time,_ my panicked brain screams to me, _just hurry up!_ He snatches the paper from me delicately, gathering the scraps and tucking them into his sleeve, secret concealed.

"So, Ulqui, bring those to Lord Aizen, and everyone's happy. Oh!" and Szayel's glasses gleam wickedly, "Get her a change of clothes. She looks _ragged_."

"Very well. Woman, come with me. And don't try any funny moves." Ulquiorra turns to leave with a not-quite-respectful nod, and I turn to follow him. Before I file out the door, Szayel throws me a cocky wink and a shake of his candy-floss hair.

"Stay here?" I linger at the door to the main antechamber, where Aizen resides.

"Stay here," he confirms.

"Why?"

He doesn't answer, only leaves.

I linger by the doorway. I hear a smooth murmur of voices, muted clicks and thumps of feet, and after a small eternity, he comes back, a while expandse of cloth draped over his arm.

He doesn't say a word as he turns on his heel, and I once again hurry after.

"Here." He hands off the dress to me- a duplicate of what I'm wearing now.

"Sure. Just, y'know…" It will be a relief to get out of these clothes, which I've been wearing for the last few weeks, and do look quite pathetic at this point. But he's still standing there.

" I know what?"

_Oh my god._ Heat floods my cheeks. "If you could step outside for a minute, while I change?" I sound cowed. How should I explain this to him…

"Is this some silly human thing?" He seems surprisingly sympathetic.

"Yes. Yes it is," I squeak.

He looks tired, but politely slips out of the door.

There's only another top layer, so I shimmy the long, sweeping, outer covering of a dress off. Underneath it, it's a long, simply sheath of an underskirt, sleevess but long. After long weeks of confinement, my skin is happy to breathe. I let my skin air for a minute, shake my arms out, before slipping the new dress on.

"Okay. Come in," I say.

He comes in. "I can't say I see any difference."

"Oh? Really?" I spin a little in place, back and forth, like an impatient child. "I feel a lot better though."

"You're quite odd, human," he says, but without malice. It's merely an observation. "I'll be back in an hour with food."

I turn to walk away, but catch myself. "Ulquiorra?"

"Yes?"

"Goodbye." I smile, then falter. The word falls a bit flat in the silence, until…

"Goodbye, then." A flash of movement, and the door quickly snaps shut.

_I don't understand him. I don't understand him at all._ I try not to despair about this, but it does. _He's so sealed off._

It occurs to me that that's always been the problem, with anyone, including a certain orange-haired strawberry who still hasn't rescued me. _I know its no easy take, but I think that when Rukia was taken, he was here by now._

I'm not going to wait for him to come to me; there's no chance of that happening.

If you think Orohime being so relaxed around Syzel is far-fetched, you need to go make yourself friends with a gay dude. Seriously. They're wonderful.


	4. Glancing

Woohoo. After going back and revising, voyeur Grimmy ended up not being in the last chapter, but I forgot to edit out in the intro. MY BAD.

I break Orohime's viewpoint for just a sec, in cause you're confused about that part in the middle.

Oh, and thank you all for the lovely reviews!

* * *

My subconscious, it seems, is determined to break me.

When I'm nice and safely miserable, waiting like a princess in a tower for the knight to get his damn self here, I get dreams that leave me speechless and floundering, more confused than anyone should ever allowed to be.

Now, when I want answers and resolution? Nothing.

Morning's gray light leaves me with no new chapter, no new revelation. I groan, and pull myself up.

The light is paler than usual, in a place that lacks color to begin with. I've slept well, for once, but my eyes pound against my skull.

It seems that even in Hueco Mundo, they have something resembling Mondays.

"Woman?" A cautious knock at the door. And then, an uncharacteristic pounding sound.

"You don't have to ask like you're her mother, man! She's the _prisoner_. You know what means? We _own_ her."

_Oh, lovely._ The Grimmjow seems to be in accompaniment.

The door is flung open, and Grimjow walks in. He wears a wild, impatient grin.

"Wh…why are you here?"

Grimmjow swings around, a tight circle of energy. "I am here, _girl,_ because some maniac or another has gone a little crazy out there on the training grounds, and there is blood everywhere, and thus not available. I am also here because _I damn well feel like it._ Any questions?"

"No. No sir."

Ulquiorra is watchful of this exchange. Wheeling the cast over, he asks, "Food?"

"Yes, please." He moves over, Grimmjow hovering behind him. I feel protected, and I don't whether or not to find it strange or not.

Scratch that. I'd feel protected by a hollow if it provided any barrier between me and the blue-haired maniac.

Usually, the plate stays on the cart, and I eat it from there. But today, he places is gingerly on my lap. His fingers brush my knees, and my heart catches a tiny bit, even though the cloud of fear.

I bow my head a little, as I eat, letting my hair fall around my face in a curtain. It might look like submission, but it's not; Grimmjow is blocked out, but Ulquiorra hovers in my vision. _That's better._

For once, I finish too quickly. I hand the plate back, and then regret it. I'd like to feel his cool touch again.

Grimmjow is leaning against the wall, starting at the ceiling in utter boredom.

"Done here, Ulquiorra?"

"I suppose that I am." Grimmjow pulls himself upright, and beckons Ulquiorra to follow him. Ulquiorra looks to me, nods a quick goodbye, then follows.

* * *

"You balless _bastard._" Grimmjow punches the wall, rocketing it into the flat gray walls.

"Excuse me, Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra's voice goes tense.

"You know what I'm talking about, coward. The _girl._ You're acting like she's not even there. She's a woman, for god's sake. The only one within these walls not armed to the teeth."

"I don't know what your saying."

Grimmjow hisses. "You need me to spell it out for you? _Take some liberties. _Are you genuinely that clueless?"

"I was under the impression that such things were only in the domain of low human beings."

"You obviously know nothing."

"That may be true."

"I'll have to show you, then."

A slam, and the back of Grimmjow's head it thrown against the wall. "You will not hurt her."

"I won't now, hmm? Any reason why?"

"You know Aizen will…."

He laughs. "Aizen? Aizen has bigger things to deal with than _her._ I'm telling you, if I was to go ahead and…"

"_You will not_."

A smile. In a teasing tone, he says, "Aah. That's how it is then. You're just afraid to make a move?"

"I still do not know what you're talking about, you lowlife."

The 6th only responds with a smile. "Whether you have an actual heart or not is debatable, Ulquiorra, but _no one_ is completely dead below the belt."

"You are vile."

"Don't be so high and mighty, Ulquiorra," Grimmjow spits, and walks off.

Ulquiorra is left with a trace of something cold and heavy weighing on him as he strides away from the lonely cell.

I lean back, a straight line with my neck cracked back to the ceiling, and a smile curls to my lips.

I can't shake the images of his emerald eyes, with the pale light flitting in and out, from my mind. Or the angle of his face, architectural and smooth. The contours of his lips.

I feel my cheeks burn a little. More than a little. I slide on my side and bury my face in my elbow.

It should be a few hours before he returns.

Might as well be a few years. _But then again, I'm used to waiting._

* * *

I made Grimmjow into such a meanie here, but I usually like him. His hormones are getting to him, is all.

_Cliffhanger no jutsu?_


	5. Colors

Hi! It's been too long, mahlovilies.

Due to finals, a lack of inspritation, and general failing and flailing, this chapter took a while. But I read though some good books for inspiration, finished the flipping finals, and kicked myself in the butt. Thus here it is.

* * *

These walls. I think I've stared at them so long that they'll forever be burned into my eyes. I think I could be a hundred years old and remember this room, down to the last minuscule scuff on the wall. They seem to be the new reality, and that apartment in Karakura seems more and more like a fictional place every passing minute.

I flip onto my back, and close my eyes, even though I'm far form tired.

They need to let me _out _of here. I'll drown in the gray and white and never be seen again.

Someone needs to take a can of paint to this place that's not in yet another tone of gray. Not to mention some nice wasabi and hot-sauce for the food. The horrible, boring, insufferable plain food.

But I digress. I'd like the color more.

Ulquiorra notes the anticipation radiating off of Grimmjow with … _unease_, he believes it is called. There is a bounce to his step, and the side of his face without his mask grins as widely as to match the other half.

Ulquiorra reaches for words, but none come. Scolding him will only come off as motherly and weak, and the Espada is not one to listen to such things anyway.

The door of her cell. Ulquiorra wishes it were locked shut. Bolted shut. Welded shut.

Grimmjow unceremoniously swings it open.

A squeak of doorhinges has never been so exciting. My heart scrambles.

"Hello, girl!" The scalding voice of Grimmjow rings out. "Dinner time!"

_Damn it to hell. Not again._ My heart sinks as he enters the room, Ulquiorra on his heels.

"Good evening, human." Ulquiorra says. His voice is sharper than usual, but I don't think its hostility. Not towards me, anyway.

"Good evening, sir."

"Hello?" Grimmjow waves his hand eccentrically. "Am I invisible?"

"Good evening, sirs." I sound like a robot, I know. But I don't know what else to call him, and I'm sure as hell not taking any chances with this time bomb of a creature.

Grimmjow takes a fork, scoops food onto it messily, and jabs it torwards my face. "Eat."

"I'm capable of holding the fork myself, sir."

"As am I. Eat."

"Sir, it's a lot harder to…"

"Eat!" he snarls, and chucks the fork at me. I duck my head, and it narrowly misses my head, hitting the wall behind me.

I can't keep up this guise of obedient prisoner much longer. I try not to shake as I look at him coldly. He looks back with a thousand times more venom.

A sharp finger digs into my collarbone as he snarls, "Stupid human bitch." I can feel anger rising in my throat. By some miracle of common sense, I choke it down.

And then it traces downward, swerving to touch the side of my chest. I recoil in horror, inching away from him as best I can.

"Little human…" He purrs. "Oh, little, helpless _human_…" His hands slide back up. _Nononono._

I smack his hands away. I wish in vain for a sword or something much, much better at hurting. He is utterly vile. I pull myself up to a crouch, clutching the wall, my knees putting precious distance between him and me. He creeps closer, and in blind panic I lash out, but he grabs my hands. Very tightly.

I try to scream, but it breaks down in my throat. I try to struggle, but he is exponentially stronger than me. There is nowhere to run.

The pressure is torn away, suddenly. A pale hand grabs him by the neck, and swings him away, dragging him across the floor. Grimmjow is piled on the floor, in a surprised heap. He gathers himself, reaches for his sword, and…

A blast of light, so bright it sears my eyes. I look away, and slam my eyes shut, but its cold blue still permeates them.

It draws down, then sears again. And again, and again.

I hear Grimmjow yell. Another blast. Another.

"No!" I cry shrilly, my voice cracking roughly. "No, don't kill him! _Don't kill him!"_

Another blast, another yell.

_No no nonono_. My mind is a steady stream of no.

"Ulquiorra!" I scream, and stagger to my feet blindly. I don't know what I'm doing, but my hands latch onto his outstretched palm and pull backwards. My hands tear into his with desperation.

I feel his palm heat up with another blast, and I cringe. But then it fades, as he looks over his shoulder and registers what I'm doing.

"Please, Ulquiorra. There is no need to kill him," I choke. It's a weak, womanly thing to say. "There'll be consequences, and I'll just have to piece him together again."

He looks at me squarely, and I'm dizzy with the fact that he is so very, very close. His tall shoulder brushes mine, and I can see every fleck of light dancing in and out of his green eyes.

He lowers his arm wordlessly, and I remove my hands and fold them behind my back.

Gimmjow is knocked over and panting. He must have pulled up a shield of some sort at the last second, as he's only cut a bit. Around him, the walls look burnt.

"Come on, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra barks.

"Sir, I can heal him if-"

"No. You stay here. I don't want you anywhere near him. " Ulquiorra grabs him by the neck, and tows him out.

* * *

I'll probably bang out a couple of oneshots I've been meaning to do before the next chapter is up. But don't think I'm dead or anything! It's just summer.


	6. Dancing Away

Italics time! You know what That means! I'm so happy, dream scenes are a lot more fun to write.

I was listening to "El Tango de Roxanne" while writing this, but the lyrics don't exactly fit.

Why? Because Tango-ing is sexy.

* * *

If you've never been in shock, you're lucky. It freezes you solid. I step hesitantly backwards, until I find the wall, and slump there. I can't tell you how much time passes, but the room is slowly shading itself darker and darker.

Gah.

I run that incident over and over though my mind like evidence, but can't make heads or tails of it. Ulquiorra listened to me. But he stood by at first. He was angry, but did it come from being protective of me, or just at Grimmjow for being out of line? I can't decode him at all.

Over and over. Over and over.

It makes my head spin. So, I clutch the floor.

I feel cowered, and I hate it.

* * *

_The room around is dark and pulsing warmly, like an inner chamber of a heart. It whorls with the bustle of people, glittering through the soft dark. _

"_Come on, 'hime, are you all right?."_

_I snap my eyes open. Ulquiorra holds me by the shoulders, holding me as if I'm made of paper, about to crumple and fold._

"_Oh! I'm fine, I'm fine," I say frantically. "I was just…just-"_

"_You keep on looking drowsy, are you all right?" His face is mere centimeters away from me, and his eyes are wide with worry._

_I gulp. "Just fine."_

_He smiles softly but winningly. I melt._

"_You're sure?"_

"_I'm sure." I pull away, then stop myself. There's something I want to do first. Reaching my face up to his, I plant a kiss on his cheek, lingering and savoring for only the briefest of moments._

_He has other ideas. He twists and presses his mouth to mine. I lean into him, but he breaks away. He beams softly. Yes, the fearsome Espada is smiling deliriously at me. And I just kissed him. _

"_Come on, 'hime. It's our night," he says. His voice is quiet, like always, but has a freedom and lightness that I've never heard from the real Ulquiorra. The other Ulquiorra? The second? _

_I don't care. I smile at him, and pull him out into the flare of lights in the epicenter of the room. A strain of music starts, something deep and sensual and sweeping, the textural sweep of a guitar and the soft slam of a drum._

_It is altogether impossible that this isn't real: my pulse is ricocheting all over the place. Every fiber of me breathes in him. His right hand finds its place between my shoulders, and the other snatches mine, more feverishly than before. _

_A millesecond of pause, and then he swings me into the music, and the world around me falls into a blur of unkept lines. In the dance's tight revolution, I swing around him as his gravity brings me ever, ever closer. My heart is racing rapid-fire, out of time to the beat._

_There is a bright world around me, impertinently sparkling though the gloom with every last ounce of its energy. And yet, the thing I notice the most is him: the sweep of his emerald gaze, his hand clutching mine tighter fervently. _

_Wave after wave of music, fluttering and sweeping, high and low. It pulls us together in an eddy of hot air._

_And then, finally, it all comes to a halt. He spins me out from under his arm, and my white dress fans out like the wing of the bird, only to be snapped back, as he pulls my back to him, folding our clasped hands across my waist._

_His mouth is a hair away from my ear. "You did it perfectly."_

"_No, I didn't. I think I stumbled a bit."_

_A tiny, conspiratorial smile. "Well, I didn't notice anything."_

"_I think you're lying."_

_He only smiles, and untangles his arms, but keeps our hands locked. I don't want to leave. I want to stay there, making small talk._

"_Come on. I can't have you all to myself just yet," he says, and plants a kiss on the tips of my fingers. It's like an earthquake.

* * *

_

Ulquiorra paces his spacious chamber. He feels something boiling hot race though him, something he can't place. Worse, its something the usually calm man can't internalize, which he usually does flawlessly. Emotion isn't usually a ruling factor for this man.

He wants to kill Grimmjow. Tear him into ten thousand pieces; slice him with his own sword. Before, he got along all right with the lower Espada, perhaps seeing the man as a little beneath him because of his quick temper and foolish attitude. And, certainly, it isn't as if the treatment of prisoners really bothered him before, he muses. Nothing like what Grimmjow attempted had occurred, but cruelty and the like were the norm for captives.

But one flash of…of _that._ Grimmjow laying hands on her. Her face, choking on revulsion, struggling for what she well knows she can't prevent.

The headstrong woman had an unusual amount of strength hidden behind her quiet, cheerful face. She had not yet broken down, as prisoners so often did. Certainly, he couldn't have thought of her _protecting _Grimmjow, especially not at that moment. A lesser woman would have fallen apart, completely, or would have struggles to watch.

_Unfortunately,_ he thinks, _being headstrong doesn't protect her. Not here._

The pictures keep on flashing, a bit different this time. Her running up to him, seen though fury-hazed eyes. Her hand clutching his, tight with desperation. Her biting her rosebud lips in anxiety. Her body, shifting against him.

_You fool. Such…such trival thoughts. Get your head on straight. _He fidgets with his collar, pulling out a nonexistent crease.

The usually stoic Espada doesn't know how to settle himself. He's not used to this sensation.

Ulquiorra sighs, and flicks his wrist absently. He has a meeting to attend to soon, but he still has time. Too much time, actually. With nothing to occupy the time, his mind only wanders more.

* * *

How is this 5 pages on Microsoft Word, but barely anything when I upload? Argh.

Updates will come when they do, due to schedule weirdness. I have a few odd oneshots almost finished though, so keep an eye out!

Reviews make me happy!


	7. Midnight Hour

So, this will be not update for at least two weeks. I worked my butt off to get this out before I leave as it is. I'm sorry, but it's summer, I'm sure you understand.

Also! Some required listening for this chapter, as the dream sequence still continues.

Here .com/watch?v=t7t9cuoYWA0 .

Finally, forgive me if the flower throwing comes before or after the first dance. I don't happen to know, as I'm not married. XD.

Enjoy!

* * *

_The music is softer now. Still as sultry as a midday summer sun, but winding and slow rather than crackingly sharp. I sway in time to it, and worm my hand farther into his._

_They're seated, off to the side; chairs angled the side of a circular open floor. Dancing figures catch and swirl in the orange spotlights. _

_I've has gone though the required motions. Danced cordially with the fathers and the uncles and the friends. I've thrown the bouquet into a crowd of rabid bridesmaids, which was snagged by a slight, dark haired girl, who shrieks in triumph and holds her prize above her head jubilantly. I've toasted with champagne, peeking though the amber liquid at Ulquiorra, the tinted liquid making his vivid green eyes a gentle forest hue. _

_But the crowd rustles now, turning their eyes to the two of us in expectation. _

_It starts as a chattery whisper, then grows as the crowd, mildly inebriated, picks up the chant._

"_Garter! Garr-ter! Garter!"_

_Ulquiorra looks at me, smiling impishly. _

_I nod, and gulp. "Go ahead." I snap my legs together, riveted at this knees and ankles for dear, dear life. _

_He ducks his head under my dress, and it brushes my knee. The fabric of my dress rustles embarrassingly loudly. I feel a tug, and loosen my knees a millimeter so he can slip it off. Any sentient thought has long ago been wiped from my mind. _

_He emerges, blue garter firmly in teeth. He gives a triumphant wave, and then tosses it gently to the waiting crowd of men. I don't see who catches it, but I have an idea who it must be. And strangely, it doesn't bother me. _

_

* * *

_

"Ulquiorra! Pay attention." The dark haired man pulls his eyes open.

"Sorry, Aizen-sama."

"Do you need more coffee?"

"Negative sir." Although he can't keep his mind on the meeting, it's not because of any lack of sleep. He believes the humans would call it daydreaming.

It was odd, he thought, to be so horribly distracted by a person not even in the same room.

* * *

_Through planes of glass, there's nothing but a sea of pitch black. Inside, the room sparkles more than ever before. The room is beginning to take on a noxious smell: no longer soft and flowery, it has begun to take on the smells of nightlife. The sharp scent of alcohol._

_I dance with Ichigo. His smile is radiant, as it's always been._

"_So, I'd never thought you two'd end up together, but I'm happy for you," he says._

_I nod. "I never expected it either." Step forward, step back, and then to the side. _

_Ichigo leads confidently. "Don't go running off and forgetting about the rest of us, okay?" Step back, and a spin._

"_Don't worry." Sail around for a while, side forward side. _

"_I, er, caught your silly garter thing."_

"_Oh, it was you!" I laugh. It figures that it'd end up that way. "You lucky dog."_

_He bites back a smile, but his eyes crinkle. "Well, I-"_

"_No. Don't. You belong together." Belong is such a heavy, fated word, but that's how it is._

_He smiles fully now. "Well, who knows. Future's never certain."_

"_Well, if it does come around, don't you forget me on the invitation list."_

"_No forgetting for either of us." Step forward, spin out, spin in._

"_It's a deal," I promise him. _

_The music carries on, nearing the end. There's something I have to tell him._

"_You know, I used to like you."_

_He pulls back, startled. "You did?"_

_I laugh. "Yeah. Back then, you were such a hero-type, you know?"_

"_Are you saying I'm not a hero type now?"_

"_Oh, not at all," I assure him. "Just, you know. I grew out of it, I guess.. You're still the same." _

_He meets my eyes. I look back calmly. _

"_Is staying the same all right?" he sounds worried, but mildly, comically so. I laugh._

"_Yes, Ichigo. Don't you go changing."_

_A calm sway. "We're cool?" Step forward._

"_Absolutely." He kisses my cheek. I can't help but thinking how, mere months or weeks ago this would've thrilled me so much, kept me awake at night for nights on end. Now, however, it's brotherly, and I feel no gravitation to bring it further._

_I'd better get out of the spotlights for a minute, though. Thirsty. A waiter struts by, and I stop him and nab a drink. It's sweet, and I think there's something alcoholic in it. Might not want to have any more._

_I find a place at a table. Ulquiorra is already seated, talking politely. And by politely, I mean that he's more than mildly bored. He turns to me as I sit down, and pulls me over to him. He swings my back across him, so I sit on his lap. _

"_Ah, I don't think this is very dignified."_

"_This way, we can fit more people to a table?" Which I guess is true, but I know that's not his real reason. And honestly, he's very comfortable. I wrap my arms around his neck, and settles into his shoulders._

_It's honestly perfect. I'd stay there forever. _

_

* * *

_

And that lucky bouquet catcher? Rukia, in case you were wondering.

…_3. You know what that means, eh?_


	8. Closer

Foo. Okay. Sorry for the wait on this'un. I know I haven't updated in forever, so I'm toiling extramuch on this.

_HoooooOOOOOoo! Caught in a bad romance. 3_

_

* * *

_

Ulquiorra stalls outside her door. Foolishly, he might add.

Is it in the human custom to knock before entering? He can't quite remember. It seems like it might but-

Enough of this. He'll just go in. Sucking in air, he steadies his hand on the door.

Oh right.

He's supposed to bring the stupid cart.

Mental facepalm.

"Woman?"

"AH!" I scramble frantically for covers. My heart rackets around like a panicking bird in a cage. "Ca-Can you knock, please?"

He hangs his head. "Sorry."

_Hm. Interesting. _The proud Espada apologizes. To the lowly prisoner.

"It's just you today?"

"For now. Szayel has requested you for more tests later."

"Just him?"

"As far as I know, yes." Plate of food, unceremoniously given.

"Ulquiorra?"I say softly.

"Yes, woman?"

"Th-thank you for stopping Grimmjow the other day. If you hadn't I-I don't want to think of what could've happened."

He turns to face me better. He looks almost…pained?

"But more than that, thank you for not killing him. I'd feel bad if that happened, you know? Even if he did…did try to-"

"You do know, he's a killer, right? Part of the reason you're here?"

I grapple with the edge of my chair. "Yes. Yes, I know."

"You do know killing him wouldn't be an uncommon act for me, nor anyone else in Las Noches, right?"

"I know that." I'd seen as much when I'd first healed Grimmjow's arm. He'd cut down another Espada right in front of Aizen, without a trace of remorse at all. Worse, there was no reaction for Aizen, either. Loyally, if it existed at all here, was only one-sided. Loyalty was only to the untouchable Lord Aizen and the other higher-ups.

"Then why, woman, did it matter to you that I spare him?"

"It- It pains me. I don't want to see anyone else die. Okay?"

A slow, blithe nod from Ulquiorra. "I suppose it's understandable. It must be a human behavior for such feeling translate into that conviction."

"You mean that you think I'm weak then?" _Lovely. Just fucking lovely. _

He shifts. "Perhaps not weak. Just-"Unexpectedly, he chokes on whatever he was planning on saying, and ducks his head away, eyes drowning in shadows.

"Ul-"

"Finish your meal, woman, " he says abrasively, and turns away. It stings.

"Yes, sir." _Chin up, Orohime. _I eat in dignified silence. Dignified, mind you, not fearful. I drag the act out as much as I can, twirling my tongue around the fork in thought as I observe Ulquiorra from the side.

He has a becoming profile-strong, with aquiline beauty. I can't say I've ever seen anyone as pale as him, even among the ranks of the other, ghostly Espada.

His arms are quite long, and from what I can tell of his concealing clothes, muscular but lean. Where the top jacket meets the bottom hakama, there is a glimpse of pale muscle.

Even after the plate is clean, I say nothing, twirling and twisting my tongue around the lifeless fork and my heart around something else entirely.

* * *

"Here, doll, put this in your mouth."

"Szayel, are you sure about this?" He's got a quite eccentric look on his face, as I ease my dress off.

"Don't _worry. _It's just a few more routine tests."

"But I don't see why I have to be unconscious." _Stupid, stupid sleeves_. When they're free, the outer dress drops to the ground. Now it's only the light underdress, and I pull my arms together to counter the chill of the room.

"You probably won't want to feel this. It might hurt a bit, dear."

I rack through my brain to a sun-filled classroom of another time and place. "Isn't there such a thing as a… a local anesthetic? That won't totally knock me out?"

A dangerous look from the pink Espada. "It. Has. To. Be. This. Way. If I _were_ to do it any other way, it would take _hours _for the desired result to be-" Szayel looks like he's going to go off on a very long, impassioned rant, so I cut him off.

"All-All right then." His face lights up, and he twirls the medical mask by its attached tube. It's quite the contraption.

It's not the surgery that's worrying me. I think I can trust Szayel to not hurt me. At least not very much. It's the sleeping bit. And any dreams that it might entail. I don't know how I'll react to whatever this anesthetic is.

Worse, I don't have a roommate that would've told me if I talk in my sleep or not.

But it seems there's no choice. I lock eyes with Ulquiorra, standing a respectful distance away. He looks on, composed.

I nod to Szayel. He moves the mask over my face, and I drink in the syrupy air. With one breath, it pulls me away. By the time he's done fastening the mask securely to my head, I'm out.

* * *

Her eyes fade, like a watchman leaving his post, like the colors leaving a tree in autumn. The other man flurries around her on the medical bed, arms full of strands of wire, and begins systematically putting them on her.

Ulquiorra contemplates holding his tounge. But then, "Szayel."

"Hmm?" He turns, impatiently. There's a maniac light in his eyes. Szayel's eager to rush into this, to glimpse something that he can only see, granted a brief vision on charts and readings.

_A genuis like that_, and this is something Ulquiorra knows personally, _could easily do something rash and kill her._

"This won't hurt her, will it?"

Szayel was apparently just as good as those all-knowing, wily grins as Gin.

"No Ulqiorra. She will be fine. A- She's a valuable specimen, and I like that. B- You people are all paranoid, this is a routine procedure. And _finally,_" he stresses, "You seem to care quite a lot about her, you're powerful, and I don't have a death wish."

Ulqiorra needs some words. He needs some now. _Now would be a good time._

Szayel is satisfied, and returns to his work.

Ulquiorra figures that he should try to save whatever illusion of dignity he still has. This doesn't last very long, and he hovers behind Szayel as he works, criss-crossing the wires all over. The scientist presses one dangerously low on her collarbones, and Ulquiorra would like nothing more to swat his hand away.

"Easy, tiger," says the amused Szayel. "I'll keep my hands off your little eye candy in a moment, I promise."

"You- you're mistaken, Szayel. She's just-"

"Just nothing. That would make you _just_ looking at her. _Just_ undressing her with your eyes."

The dark-haired man looks childishly away. "I don't know what you're talking about." Szayel gives him one last pitying look, and then fixes the rest of the wires. Ulquiorra monitors the man carefully out of the corner of his eye. He quickly immerses himself in his work, and leaves the room muttering about more supplies.

Ulquiorra's willpower is getting a lot of abuse today. He should be observing. Not talking to the idiot subordinate. Not _arguing _with the idiot subordinate. And definitely, definitely not watching the prisoner with this much- this much _rapture._

_Shit. _He finds that the floor has given way, and he's right by the side of the table. The mask sitting on her nose and mouth obscures most of her face, but her eyes are scrunched in tension.

It made sense. She certainly had enough to worry about. His fingers trace the contour of her cheek, then thread into her hair. It's very soft. His hand settles in a bit deeper.

Muted footsteps, and he untangles his hand as best he can, but not before running it under his fingers thought it carefully again. To smooth it out, of course. Like it was before.

* * *

*passes out.


	9. Driftwood

So many nice reviews. (*/*) Thank you.

.

* * *

Szayel, or so it seems to Ulquiorra, is utterly blind. He keeps his eyes focused on his clipboard, the chart, various levers he flicks on and off, and the chart again. The scientist seems utterly immune to the beautiful woman. It's as if one passed by the Mona Lisa without a second glance.

Ulquiorra, for his part, has given up on attempting to look elsewhere. It's taking all his remaining willpower to keep his gaze from roaming too much.

"How much longer, Octava?"

"Hm? Maybe an hour, no more. I promise," he says absently. Its obvious he couldn't care less about Ulquiorra at the moment.

"Fine." Ulquiorra says.

He's more than a little alarmed at the rate at which his self-control, is exhausting itself. He's a goddamned _warrior_, not some lovestruck idiot human. Keeping his distance from a human piece of trash shouldn't any effort at all.

It was hard to think of her as trash. Trash wasn't supposed to be beautiful.

"And… we're done." Szayel gets up with a tired flourish. "I'll start bringing her off the anesthetic. You go watch her."

Carefully, the Espada makes his way to the edge of the white plane. Her hair is still spread out where he left it, like spilled wine. He crouches.

"Go ahead and take off the breather." Ulquiorra does so, letting the light plastic dome clatter, unheeded, to the floor.

"Anything yet?"

Still motionless. "Nothing."

"Mm. She's quite out. Shake her a little?" Ulquiorra nods in understanding. He briefly touches the crook of her arm, but that's too close to- He focuses on what's next to her elbow, and feels the heat rise in his throat.

Szayel chuckles, and he snaps angrily to face him. "You're so predictable, Ulquiorra. I find it adorable."

"Szayel, please- please don't say that." Because that, that would make him as bad as Grimmjow. Grimmjow the vulgar parasite who had_ dared _to touch her. Defile her. Scare her.

He elects to take the rounded part of her shoulder instead. He gives it a nudge, and her eyes flutter.

"Orohime."

* * *

"Orohime." It's not a question. It's not an order. It's a summon.

A smooth blur of gray and black and green hovers.

"Ulquiorr-ra." I say it, slowly. It's such an elegant name. Like an ocean wave of exotic syllables , rolling of the tongue like the purring of a happy cat.

I smile at him, and he comes a bit more into focus. He's close. I pull closer.

"You're so…so-" I whisper. I forget what I was going to say, and giggle. I pull myself into his arms and settle there. It's warm. Warmer than I'd thought it'd be. He looks like he'd be cold, with all that wintry color on him, but no, it's quite comforter. Closer still now.

"Orohi-hime?"

"Yeah?" The word falls softly.

"What are you doing?"

I smile. "Just this." I pull closer. He's not so gray now, just sort of pale, but in a warmer way. It's not unpleasant at all, I find.

I pull my face to his, and close in for a languid kiss. The brush of contact is feather-soft and warm, like driftwood washing up on a beach, for the briefest of moments, only to wash away again.

I look up at him happily, and, _something's not right. _He's not kissing back, not responding at all, but staying as still as a statue.

"Ulquiorra?" It comes to my realization that where I am is somewhere I'm familiar with. And not in the hypothetical. dreamlike way, but in the real way. It's- it's Szayel's laboratory.

Either my dreams have taken a surreal turn, or _this is actually happening._

I freeze. The warm amber-white of the room seems to have taken on a deadly-quiet.

I blink, and it only makes the truth more apparent.

I try to remove myself from Ulquiorra, but I'm quite tangled up in him. My mind is reeling, trying to blindly guess what the fallout of this will be.

"Ah! Ulquiorra, sir, I'm sorry. I do-don't know what I was thinking!" _Damage control, damage control. _"I thought it was a dream- a dream, or something! I-"

He looks dazed. Green eyes flick over me, but they're a bit blind.

"Orohime, don't flail like that. You're still wired up, you know." Says Szayel. He sounds quite amused by all this.

"Oh, Should I tak-take them off?"

"Let me." He bustles over. "Ach. This might take some untangling."

* * *

"I hope I didn't embarrass you-"

He bristles. "You really don't have to apologize so much."

"I-oh." _Does this means he doesn't find it…worth making a fuss over? Enjoyable?_

_I think it's me who's the worst embarrassed here. _

"Yes, sir."

Silence, silence, silence. And then-

"Is that considered," he says casually, "among humans, I mean- is that considered- important?"

"Well, yeah. " I can't help but laugh a little at this.

Ulquiorra nods absentmindedly. The idea seems to absorb him.

_  
The Espada doesn't know what he's doing. His pride should, by all methods of logic, keep him far, far away from this place. Still, he walks.

Ever since that gold-tinged, unexpected moment in the cold depths of an otherwise dreary laboratory, his mind has been churning. Like a lonely boat in a hurricane.

It's a mystery to him how a brief contact, no more than a few seconds, really! Could just short-circuit someone so easily, so fast.

It's the door. It's unlocked, and he doesn't knock.

"Grimmjow," says the Espada curtly. The blue-haired man is slumped on the bed, but cracks open a hazy eye at his name. There are more than a few bandages on his arms and chest.

"Ulquiorra," Grimmjow spits quietly. "Come to finish me off?"

Ulquiorra resits the urge to say that he is. As best he can, he reigns in his disgust. With a clear, commanding voice, he says, "Tell me all that you know about humans."

He inhales slightly, then continues, "and _her_, especially."

* * *

Too many similes? Is there such a thing?

_And because I'm paranoid that someone will be confused by my writings, everything that happened in druggie-vision actually happened._


	10. Rainfall

The update is a bit on the late side, and it's short, due to my obsessive cutting, rewriting, and deleting. It...it's like half of what usually is a chapter for me. That's kind of sad. I blame the booze! Just kidding. I don't have any money for that shiz, I spent it all on manga. Also, not old enough. I blame junior year instead.

But… I hope you enjoy it anyway. :3

* * *

It rains in the desert today.

Yes, in the barren, deadly desert, it rains. I though I was imagining it at first, when I first saw the first veils of clouds. But no, it was real. They grew thicker and grew across the expanse of sky, and finally burst.

I abandon my bed and gaze out the window instead. The dramatic inverted U of the window, with thick bars running down, lets in the tiniest amount of light. From the cloud-shrouded moon, a soft, painterly grey light falls in a spreading angle across the pale floor.

I step into the light, and flew my hand. My skin appears…wan? Not sickly-white, but softly pale, delicate as paper.

I hope I look good ghostlike.

* * *

A measured, timed knock. It can only be him

"Come in." He slips in the door. I can see him in the glass.

"Good evening." I turn. He's soaked, and doesn't look too happy about it.

"You're wet?"

"I was caught outside training when it started to rain. I probably should've run inside, but I though it was strange. I'd never seen rain before," he says, softly.

"Really? It rains all the time back home, in the human world."

"So I've heard." Ulquiorra gives his head a shake, like a dog would. His skin slick, and his clothes cling quite…quite nicely, to him. _Don't stare. _

"Dinner?"

* * *

"Er- Orihime?" He waves a hand absently. "Are you all right? You keep staring blankly.

_Crap. _"Nothing. Just thinking."

He makes as if to leave, but then halts.

"Ulquiorra?" I say timidly, as he swerves to look at me. "Is everything okay?"

He turns, and looks at me for a staggeringly long moment.

"Er- he starts to say, then stops. His train of thought is thrown off the tracks in reckless abandon and kisses me strongly. A wave of giddy, sweet joy washes over me, but after a precious second, he pulls away an inch. His emerald eyes dip into mine.

"Ori-hime," he breathes, splitting it into to soft syllables. "I-" I cut him off, bringing my finger to his lips, the only thing between us.

"You don't need an explanation. Just...just kiss me again." I slip my finger down he side of his neck. Which one of use pulls the other in is impossible to say, but I melt into him as he gives into me.

* * *

I like the phrase reckless abandon quite a lot.


	11. Behind Closed Doors

This chapter is written in various artsy-farsty-ness. Its very therapeutic for me after churning out 5-paragraph essays, and I think it its interesting. Also, it is mostly smut.

Also, check out this seriously mind-blowingly beautiful amv. "Iris"+ Ulquihime= Just, just…beautiful.

* * *

"Orihi-"

A clatter of the metal dinner tray, skidding to a sharp halt against a wall. A sharp gasp.

"Ulquiorra."

"Hn." The soft sound of a kiss.

Becoming less soft, then breaks apart.

"How long can you stay."

"Not long. I'm expected somewhere soon."

"Oh." A soft disappointment.

"I promise to be back later." A low, husky whisper. " I swear I won't be gone long-"

"Shh. I understand."

That same sound again, lasting longer.

A ragged breath. "I should go."

"Mm. I understand." Softly sorrowful.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, you know that."

"I do know that." A final kiss. The deliberately slow squeak of a door hinge, and then a resounding click.

* * *

I lean against the wall, and am alone with my racing pulse.

It's absolute torture to me when he stops in for a brief millisecond and then whisks away again. Not the actual visit: of course not. It's the leaving I can't stand. It's the damned leaving. It's cruel and unusual punishment to have a single taste, and then be locked away again.

Pacing, pacing. I examine the already well-examined wall. And the ceiling. And the window. They've already been studied too many times over. I turn on my heel, spin a bit more than necessary, and then back again.

I used to think I was a patient woman, didn't I? Ridiculous. All those years of waiting timidly for Kurosaki to make the first move were nothing to this.

I wonder if it's possible to claw my way out of here.

Walking by I watch the sliver of window in the window. My reflection looks frantic and haggard, and it's sobering enough that I stop pacing. For the moment I resign myself to it, staring outside to the soft comfort of the inky sky.

* * *

Obsession spreads as fast as wildfire.

The length of time that he can keep her from his mind is increasingly brief. He steals whatever moments he can: ducking into her room, if even for a moment. And the time when he closes the door is growing more and more tortuous.

The taste of her lips has settled over every other thought, he thinks, nursing the last sip of his coffee.

The meeting drags on. And on. It's not even anything remotely important, just some minor disturbances in the world of the living. He can't comprehend why Aizen would consider it important. He could be with _her _instead. Or, at least, be left in a bit more peace to be left alone with his thoughts.

It was her innocent way of conducting herself, he muses, that is stuck in his head at the moment. There is an utter innocence about her that'd be more common in a child, not a grown woman. Most women- not that he knew many- were catty, aggressive, or reclusive. In her situation, she had all the right to be any of these, and yet a fragile, trusting innocence stayed.

He found his mind wandering- only his mind, thank you- to the woman seated opposite him, with the striking eyes and dark body. While the woman was formability strong and admirably somewhat virtuously loyal to her underlings in this band of cutthroats, she had no allure to him. A woman like that would laugh at you for feeling protective of her, and that to him was about as endearing as a wild tiger. Not to mention the- _attire._ It left barely anything to the imagination- not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but, just- it just felt obscene to have that sort of display for the world to see. He personally was capable of ignoring it, but he was one of the few who could manage this. He wouldn't know what to do if…if Orihime were to-

His train of though derailed entirely as he considered the image of Orihime in Halibel's clothes_. With the- the…and the- _

The mental image was certainly extremely…Compelling.

Overwhelming.

_Delectable._

A few minutes later, the Espada seated to his right noticed the 4th staring into space with a deep blush fixated upon his face that could not be attributed to any amount of hot coffee.

* * *

Read and Review, and seriously go look at that video. ;)


	12. Breath

O GOD THIS THING. Right

I plead junior year.

It was either old-man-death across from Ulquiora, or Stark. I preferred Stark. 3

"Cifer." The voice is languid but commanding, and Ulquiorra turns obligingly.

"Stark-sama," he says deferentially, as Stark languidly nods the man over from where he stands. He notices the man's usual easy stance looks a bit more tensely focuses today, if only by a tiny degree. Ulquiorra makes a mental note to watch what he says.

"Good afternoon, sir, " Ulquiorra says, carefully casual.

"'Afternoon, Cifer." Stark peers at him pointedly from lidded eyes. "Long meeting, huh?"

"I noticed. More so than usual."

"Things must not be going right, with all this extra planning and whatnot. It's absurd."

"Mm," agrees Ulquiorra noncommittally, as if he knows what Stark is talking about. In truth, he spent most of the meeting glossy-eyed and immune to outside world. If Stark asked him about any specifics of the meeting, he didn't think he'd be able to remember a single thing.

"You certainly were out of it."

Ulquiorra freezes. "You noticed, then?"

Stark laughs disarmingly, waving his hand lazily. "Hard not to. You looked like you were thinking intensely. I half expected you to burn a hole in the edge of the table."

"Just zoning out, Stark."

"Zoning out _quite _intensely."

"Sir," Ulquiorra says defiantly, "Do you mean anything by that?"

Stark scrutinizes him for a moment more. "No. Just a stray thought." He waves off Ulquiorra with an absent-minded smile. "See you."

As Ulquiorra slips down another hallway, he misses Starks shadow approach and then meld with another in whispered conversation.

Of course I fall asleep. Ungracefully, of course, kneeling on the floor with my arms and head draped on the bed.

A soft knock at the door. "Orihime?"

Hmmm, I look up as he slips through the door fluidly. I smile hazily. Ulquiorra kneels gracefully, and wordlessly strokes the back of my head delicately.

"You came back quick."

"I did," he half-smiles, which is quite rare from him. It's exciting. I'm too pleased with myself to be tired right now. I pull him towards me, and kiss him enthusiastically. He quickly kisses back, slipping his tongue between my lips skillfully.

It goes fast, but not fast enough. My heart stars off pounding like a jackhammer, and only grows more frantic from there. When coming up for air, I breathe raggedly, my control slipping away notch by notch.

He is a gentlemen: bit too much of a gentleman for this. Carefully, tremblingly, I guide his hands up my chest. Green eyes come into focus as he breaks away, looking slightly hesitant and questioning, but after a moment's brief span he closes in again. He doesn't need to be told twice, and slides his hands along me reverently. Ulquiorra, apparently, can sort of blush, and it on his grey-pale skin it's very, very apparent.

I manage to find the wall, and slide up it a tiny amount. I break away from the kiss, just for a second, really- because my head is spinning.

He pulls away abruptly, crouching on his haunches in a delicate, catlike manner. I can see doubt in his eyes.

Before he can say anything, I ask softly, "Ulquiorra?"

"Yes, 'hime?" He says. The nickname melts my heart a little.

"You're not just- You're serious about this, right?"

A sober glance, even with the heated flush still present. "I am more serious about this than _anything_."

I pull him close, laying my face on his neck. "Good," I choke out. And I engage him in another deep kiss.

"Staaarrk, for someone who spends as much time as possible with his eyes closed, you are a_ perceptive_ man."

"I suppose that's a compliment. I couldn't help but notice his distraction, and nothing distracts an emotionally inhibited man like Cifer like things he hasn't felt before."

"And from there, you knew."

"Well, its not like it was the only possibility. I mean, it could've been another arrancar. "But it didn't seem like that."

"Exactly. I don't know how I knew, but I knew."

"And it wouldn't have been a problem, then, if it was?"

"Yes. It's not a problem to me, personally. I couldn't care less about what he chooses to do. It's just that-"

"_Tangled priorities_. You know, with the plans and all."

"Exactly. Plans, if I might add, probably went completely over his head today."

"What are you suggesting we do, then."

"There is really nothing. I'm not going to run to Aizen-I don't know how he'll react. I'll just keep an eye on them, and if he gets too involved, I'll figure something out."

"Ooh, you're a spoilsport, Stark. I'd really prefer to just let the lovebirds alone and just cut Ulquiorra from one of the more vital roles of the plan."

"We can't_ afford _to do that. He is the Fourth-seated Espada, he has strength and responsibility that we can't let a stupid girl interfere with."

"You're such a coldhearted little-"

The sound of a closing door.

"Very polite sir. Very polite. _Ugh."_


	13. Swift

*hooks up a large cable to this story and dances around in a thunderstorm waiting for electric current.

IT LIVVESS!

Bow-chikka-bow-wow warning. No lemon, though.

* * *

Cold sweat laces down his spine.

Soul Reapers. First one, then additional ones. Already bridged the gap. Set foot in Las Noches. Quickly approaching. Aiming to get back _her._

And that's just the first part, the first step down a hellish road.

He drinks in Aizen's plan. Word by disastrous word. And what they, as a whole, imply.

Ulquiorra is nailed to his seat with cold, creeping, horrifying _despair. _He clenches his fist in an attempt to regain composure, which barely holds until the end of Aizen's long tirade He makes a beeline out even as the meeting is just ending and he can feel the weight of their eyes on his back. Surprised, naturally, by his sudden change from an impassive, chilly man, to this stormy-eyed mess.

The door crashes open. Orihime, sits, perched on the arm of the gray chair. She turns to him, looking surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

He starts to say something, then hesitates. With a flick of his hand, he shuts the door.

"Ulquiorra? Is something wrong?" she says hesitantly.

His mind races. "It's- They're," he stutters, then stops to clear his throat. "They're coming for you."

He carefully gauges her reaction. Her eyes light up, but she purses her lips. "My friends, you mean. They're the one's who 're coming."

"Yes. The Soul Reapers."

"When?" her voice is mysterious and drifting, a quagmire.

"I don't know. It's probably not long. Perhaps not more than a few days. A week."

"Ulquiorra." The name is a statement, a cry, and a summon, all in one.

"Yes, woman?"

"I w-want you to… to stay with me. Here, tonight," she says tremblingly. A flush creeps across her cheeks, and her eyes meet his for only a brief, heated second before they dash away again.

Ulquiorra is not completely sure of what she's implying, but the look on her face speaks volumes.

"Fine. I have to go now, but I'll be back at dusk."

"You promise?"

"Of course, woman. Where else would I be?"

* * *

Oh god. Oh my god. What've I just lead myself into? I don't know what I could be thinking. I feel like some shameless slut, some bottom-feeder at a dingy bar, using a stupid line like that.

_I want you to stay with me tonight. _I've heard better drivel from the radio. Late-night, sappy radio.

It was the sudden shock of news, the unexpected time limit on this situation. I'd been counting on sticking it out here indefinitely, and to have a possible end in sight is- is upsetting.

Am I upset by the prospect of freedom? _What on earth is wrong with me?_

No, I don't think I'm upset by the idea of escape. I think I'm just afraid of what I'm giving up here, with him.

Because I can't have both.

* * *

He slips into my room just as shadows start to lengthen. I pull him into my arms without pause, and things get steamy fast. My doubts and worries evaporate.

I had been planning to, if it was needed, claim that staying the night meant- I don't know, exactly, but not sex. Platonic cuddling, maybe. But his hands feel so good, carefully tracing down and around my body, that it's me who pulls off the white drape of clothing first. Don't ask me if it was mine or his that went first, I'm embarrassed to say, but it was more often my fingers than his pulling it away and tossing it aside quickly.

It's odd at first: a slew of heat and embarrassment I can't shake off. And it hurts at first. His face looks worried as the pain shows on my face. But then this goes there and a rhythm is found. And then it feels good in a way I can't describe: pleasure hits me suddenly, and although I know I should be quiet, I can't help but cry out. It's his name that I gasp.

* * *

There is nothing painful or strange about waking up alongside him. It's chilly and before dawn. He's clothing himself, pulling solemn white garments back on again, and notices I'm awake.

"I don't want to go. It's just that I can't be seen leaving here in the morning."

"I understand," I say sadly. "But you'll be back, right?"

"You know I will. I promise." He kisses my cheek lightly, and then is off into the night like a specter.


End file.
